


A Different Path

by TheScaryReporter



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Original Character(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScaryReporter/pseuds/TheScaryReporter
Summary: A look into an adventure with Piper Wright as she and a vault dweller delve into Nuka World. This story is about what happens when their paths cross. Very slightly AU.





	1. Nuka Cola

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic! Thanks to nuka-nuke for co-writing/beta reading/ect ect. Thanks to Lain Stardust (my favorite fic writer) for being my beta as well!  
> For screenshots/asks/other content check out my tumblr: thescaryreporter

Fog on the glass, the hissing metal coffin, a permeating cold, and followed by an endless blackness. The dream was becoming less frequent now. It didn’t scare her; it just _was_ , but sleep never returned afterward. Sleeping for 200 years would do that you. She would normally lie awake to listen to Ben’s light snoring, wondering what world he was in.

_He’s not here,_ she reminded herself, _you stormed off. I'm sure he's off on some new saint's task by now._ Brook's own annoyance at her brother left a dull ache in her stomach. Loose rubble shifted under her sleeping bag and dug into her back, encouraging her to abandon the idea of sleep. The small pharmacy that was being used as a temporary camp was shrouded in ink. She slid out of her sleeping bag, the zipper broken long ago, and stood against the counter. Her hands barely grazed the counter top, too many times she’d learned to have a gentle touch when this new world was made of broken glass and rubble. Soon enough, she found the matchbox and lit the candle she’d read by last night. Packing up was quiet work. Normally, she and Ben would quietly discuss their plans, what food they had left, where to get more water. This morning there was only the hiss of polyester straining as the sleeping bag was strapped to her pack.

Ben had meant well, dragging her and anyone else around the Commonwealth. Becoming General had introduced in him an obligation to the well-being of settlers and farmers scattered around the wasteland. For the past six months, he had traipsed about, dragging around anyone who could hold a gun and was willing to follow. _I’m tired of following,_ she absently touched the scars dragging down her face, _and I’m tired of getting my ass kicked doing his dirty work._ She considered the metal chest armor she’d discarded in the corner of the room before retrieving it. Even if she’d hated it, she could still get a couple caps for it in town. Ben had insisted she wear it, and she had eventually relented if not just to keep him from worrying. Metal was loud and limited her mobility. The last thing she needed was to be sneaking through a raider camp and ringing the plate like a gong with one misplaced step. The pack was hoisted to the counter with a huff and slipped on. The leather straps creaked against her shoulders as they were tightened, straining against the weight of the cans of food inside. _One can of Cram, two boxes of Blamco—wait one box—two bottles of water, do I have any Nuka left?_ she mused.

With her rifle slung over her pack and her snub-nosed .44 nestled into the front of her waistband, Brook slid the chair barricading the door out of the way and cautiously peeked outside. Boston was fairly quiet, as if the moonlight washed away the harsh noises of firefights and screaming from the region. Cool air brushed over her forehead, and until then, she hadn’t noticed the stickiness of the air inside. Diamond City wasn’t far; she and Ben had been only a day away. It took her half the day to get this far after storming off, playing it safe by setting up in the pharmacy by dusk. _Ahead of schedule, not that there’s a schedule anymore._ She’d made this trip countless times before with Ben. Diamond City was a hub for supplies and gossip of scavvers looking to ‘join the good fight.’ She knew which streets were patrolled by raiders looking for a poor soul to torture. The streets infested with blood-crazed super mutants were also avoided. The idea was to avoid unnecessary attention. The wasteland was never more dangerous than when you were alone.

 

The sun had started to peek between the sagging skyscrapers by the time Diamond City was within view. The stadium lights towered over the green wall, easily spotted by someone who knew where to look. Brook brushed her hair back out of her eyes, cursing herself for not getting a cut from John when she was in town. She still wasn't quite accustomed to not bathing for days, sometimes weeks, at a time. Her hair was slick and oily to the point where it almost looked black, unfortunately being too short to pull back. She silently resolved to find a spigot in the city to stick her head under as her first priority. Soon, the hum of turrets gradually became clearer, and the gate of Diamond City could be heard groaning as it opened for daybreak. The green monster loomed overhead as a beacon in a grey, dilapidated Boston. With a few curt nods exchanged with the guards, she stormed up the stairs into the city.

There was nothing more refreshing than a Diamond City soak. A neck up shower from a spigot in the outfield complete with cold- and heavily irradiated- water. Ben had concocted a dry soap which was easily stored in a Mentats tin that she used. It was more suitable for laundry, but when your hair starts to resemble Takahashi’s greasy noodles, you make do. The sun hadn’t been up for very long, and Diamond City remained in a gentle slumber. Arturo was setting up for the day but still made an offer of 40 caps for her metal chest plate. Brook was relieved to be rid of the clunky armor and made her way to the Dugout Inn, desperate to set down her heavy pack for a day. She could usually never stay in Diamond City; Ben’s entourage was too big to take over the Dugout, so they were forced to set up camp just outside the wall.

The Dugout was always shrouded in a haze of cigarette smoke, the radio constantly playing while the patrons sat apart – eyeing each other suspiciously. It reminded Brook of her childhood when her father would come home after work and sit down to watch a noir detective show with the typical loose-cannon ex-cop as the front runner. The thought made her smile, _Mom always told him to not rot my brain with those shows, but every time he’d scoop me into his arms and call me his future private investigator._ She could still remember his smell of aftershave, motor oil, and a bit of sweat. It was leagues away from the Dugout, which smelled of must and smoke.

It was quiet this morning, Scarlett was sweeping up broken glass – most likely from last night; and Yefim was manning the bar, reading a paper. Vadim was no doubt hungover in bed like most mornings. Yefim was a quiet man, reserved in a way his brother was not. For a moment, Brook thought of Ben and how they were similar, but then she realized which twin that would make her and quickly pushed the thought aside.

Yefim didn’t look away from his paper but took notice of her. “The minuteman- just you today?” his Russian accent didn’t help him sound enthused, but he was polite, if anything.

Brook shifted under her pack uncomfortably, “Yeah, just me. I was looking to see if you had a room available.”

He glanced up at her briefly before returning to his paper, “Sure, it’s 10 caps a night.” She dug out 20 caps and set them neatly on the bar. He slid them aside and pointed to room 2. 

“Don’t throw up on my floors.”

The room was basic, but it was nicer than a lot of places she’d stayed, even before the war. She shut the door behind her and slid her rifle off, setting it next to the bed. Her pack was deposited into the only lounge chair in the room, and she rummaged through it hoping to find some food that didn’t need preparation. The only thing she found was a half-eaten box of some very stale Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. She choked them down quickly with some water, pretending it was one of those dry scones from Red Rocket.

Brook felt restless and decided to head over to John to get that haircut she’d wanted. Maybe this time he’d have a pair of clippers that didn’t snag. After the first few cuts, John caught on to the usual: clipped sides, a trim on top, and styled into a slight pomp. A full 20 minutes later and his first customer of the day was leaving satisfied, even leaving a few extra caps for a tip—that always surprised him. Brook swiped at a few stray clippings on her neck, wandering back towards the Dugout when her stomach caught an elbow. _Ugh, maybe I should’ve kept the chest plate after all,_ she thought bitterly _._

“Jesus! Sorry, Blue, I didn’t see you there!” a frantic and apologetic voice rang out.

Piper. She’d tagged along after Nick Valentine when Brook had gotten word that he’d been in some trouble. They’d made a good team, but Ben had needed her—so she’d spent the last 6 months with him instead of chasing down headlines and keeping the quirky reporter out of trouble. They’d managed to exchange pleasantries whenever the group was in town. Piper always batted her eyelashes and tried to get a story out of her, and she had come close to being successful more than a few times. She sucked in a breath and dramatically clutched her abdomen.

“I can see the headline now,” Brook huffed with a smirk, “local reporter assaults innocent commonwealth citizen!”

“Oh, har har, and you think I’m gonna write that article?” She chuckled and tilted her head, jarring her news cap just so. “I’d sooner stage a cover-up. Eye witnesses, testimonials, the works.” Her grin touched hazel eyes that shined with excitement. She started a slow walk back towards Publick Occurrences, looking back for a rebuttal.

Brook met her easy pace, “Piper Wright, do you honestly believe you’re the only person in the Commonwealth with some writing skill?” She leaned in a bit to give her a hushed tone, “Once I have you out of the picture, the paper will be mine. Think of it Piper, I’m going to add a new column: Wasteland Whispers.” She gestured her tagline in the air above.

Piper gasped, feigning outrage and clutching her scarf. “A gossip column? You wouldn’t dare!” she growled.

Brook raised her brow and gave her an exaggerated shrug, innocent of any ill-doing. “Do you really want to find out?” She enjoyed these small moments with Piper, briefly forgetting her falling out with Ben. Instead, they just joked and verbally sparred, Brook found a little victory in keeping the witty reporter on her toes.

“How about we discuss your . . . acquisition . . . of my paper over some coffee? It’s a vintage, you know—200 years to be exact.” Her voice took on a smoky tone, still jesting with every word.

“Two hundred years?” Brook chuckled, “That happens to be my favorite blend. I think I’ll take you up on that, Miss Wright.”


	2. Nuka Cherry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piper is suspicious of the newest Diamond City guest. Brook has her eyes on a new direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is now edited for clarity.

Brook found herself falling into a routine by her third day in Diamond City. She’d wake early—still sleeping in by Minutemen standards—and go on the search for breakfast. Percy usually had something that resembled food in stock, and there was a small cooking fire in the market that she would start for the day. After breakfast, she would start to head back to the Dugout but would be conveniently intercepted by Piper returning from the schoolhouse where Nat was dropped off. They would have some terrible coffee, and Piper would list off a few articles that she was drafting up.

Today, Piper leaned against the lockers and took the opportunity to gaze over her coffee at the guest on her couch. Brook had a feeling that where she was sitting was soon to be a hot seat and trained her expression into a neutral one. She knew that look; Piper had a lead on a story. She always felt bad for the poor sucker who was on the receiving end of it. It seemed that she was the sucker about to experience a Publick Occurrences interview.

“So Blue…,” Piper took an exaggerated sip of her coffee. Her tone caused Brook to sit upright and she could see her shoulders stiffen. “You’ve been here a while now.”

“I suppose.”

“Usually you guys run with a whole entourage, but here we are a week later and not a single minuteman has shown up after you.”

It wasn’t a question, and the last thing Brook was going to do was freely offer information before she knew what Piper was getting at. She sipped her coffee pointedly, feigning disinterest.

“I’m dying of curiosity here, Blue. What do they have you doing here? Should I be expecting a military occupation in the coming months?”

A chuckle escaped Brook unbidden, and her apprehension was forgotten. _As if Ben would ever have the guts._ She felt herself relax, “So what, I’m a spy?”

“You left with the Minutemen but showed up a day later. You just . . . got a room at the Dugout, sold some scrap you’ve dug up, and grabbed dinner from Takahashi – okay, I sound crazy!” she growled.

“No, no,” Brook gave a hearty chuckle and set her coffee down in fear of spilling it. “I’d love to help you write your article on how I’m being suspiciously normal.” Her voice lowered to a stage whisper.  “You caught me, I want to reprogram Takahashi. His noodles are _terrible_.” She could feel Piper’s mood shift and decided to throw her a bone. She leaned forward onto her knees and caught Piper’s gaze, her hazel eyes revealed disappointment. “Look . . . if it’s off the record I’ll show you what I’ve been up to.”

They weren’t going far from the city, so Brook felt safe enough with only her .44 tucked into her waistband. The sun was directly overhead as they made their way down the steps of the park. She led Piper to the left, down one of the routes for city security. Security seemed to steer clear of her for the most part—probably for the best because Brook couldn’t take them seriously in their umpire getups. It was only about 20 feet before they passed under a fallen wall, revealing a junkyard just beyond. Brook sidestepped a turret and entered the chain link fence surrounding the yard. They navigated a scaffolding ramp, and it was a bit tricky only because it was dubbed “mostly sturdy” with a smirk. The scaffolding ran between two dilapidated buildings which had been picked clean, most likely by the vault dweller.  

They climbed through a crumbling wall into one of the buildings and began ascending the stairwell inside; the small debris and rubble had been cleared away. “Is this the part where you take me to the roof and lead me to my untimely demise?” Piper muttered.

Brook chuckled and rounded the corner ahead of her. “You mean, did the mayor offer me a substantial number of caps _and_ Publick Occurrences if I happened to,” she paused to sneak Piper a devious smile, “lead you out of town and return alone?” She looked back to Piper and winked, flashing her a winning smile. “I’m not a minuteman, by the way—not officially at least.”

Piper felt her stomach twist with apprehension, but her legs persisted and carried her up the stairs while Brook continued. This seemed to be their distinctive back and forth: Piper would try to find out more about her, and Brook would deflect with humor. Whenever Piper actually received an answer, it was always just a taste, and she could see gold flecks of mischief dancing in her green eyes _. You think your blasé act can fool anyone,_ Piper contemplated, _but I think I know how to fluster you, Blue._ “You could have fooled me, all you need is the funny hat.” Piper gestured to her minutemen’s outfit, and Brook stopped long enough to pull at her shirt collar self-consciously. “That blue vault suit, though, was uh, a good look for you.” Piper peered from under lashes just quickly enough to see Brook blush before walking across the roof hurriedly. _That could’ve been smoother, but it looks like I’ve got your number._

“Right, well I was only really there for Ben.” Brook lifted herself onto the ledge and started across a plank bridge that Piper eyed curiously. Wooden scraps were held with a few steel rods and some rusted nails. It seemed safe; Brook had no issues crossing, so she swallowed her fear and crossed over before she could change her mind. Piper realized that the next bridge would put them right at the top of the wall of Diamond City.

“The General–you guys were in the vault together, right?” She would’ve given her left arm for an interview with either of the vault dwellers, but the General had gently refused. Piper had been too intimidated by Brook to even think about asking her. She had looked aggressive and hostile until Piper had first worked with her one-on-one. Now, her only regret was that she hadn’t thought to bring a notepad with her today. “Did you two have a falling out or something?”

Brook slipped across the last plank leading up to the roof before easily dropping off the ledge on the other side. She turned and held it in place for Piper while she crossed. “Something like that, I guess. I was just tired of following him blindly. He’s doing good things out there but—,” she sighed and her hands lazily hung from her hips. “Sometimes you just want to be in the pilot’s seat, you know? It’s no fun following your brother’s orders all the time.”

“Your brother, huh? That was the last thing—” the plank shifted beneath Piper. “Blue!” Was that shrill scream coming from her? She kicked her feet against the plank but found no purchase. The ground was so far away, she couldn’t help but imagine herself as a splatter mark. _Oh, McDonough would love that._

Brook lunged forward to grip onto Piper’s lapel, pulling her until she could wrap an arm around the reporter and drag her off the ledge. “Piper, it’s fine. I’ve got you.” She hid a smirk as Piper latched onto her shirt, the reporter’s eyes screwed shut tightly. The plank had barely moved, but with Piper flailing around wildly for a moment, she had thought that she might actually shift it out of place. Piper seemed mostly unharmed, just terrified, so Brook adjusted her news cap. “You didn’t actually think I was being serious about McDonough, did you? I have no idea how to use those printers. I’d drive Nat crazy in a day.” She started to pry Piper’s hands off of her shirt.

Piper took a deep breath and relaxed her hands. “So, your brother?” She muttered just loudly enough for her companion to hear. “Here was I thinking he was your husband or somethin’.”

Piper felt her face warm as Brook erupted in laughter, her breath brushed against the reporter’s cheeks. _I had the upper hand for just a minute. Piper you dolt, now I’m gonna have to bury my head in the printer for at least a week before I can look at her again._

 

“Well, he’s a handsome fella,” Piper stumbled over her words and was irritated that she had let the tables turn, backpedaling quickly. “And you know,” she gestured to Brook’s hand, “the ring on your finger?” She watched as Brook’s eyes immediately glazed over, now in some far away place while gently twisting her ring.

Piper felt sheepish; this conversation was not at all how she’d wanted it to go. She had hoped to talk about the vault itself: the community, lifestyle, what did they know about the surface world? Instead it had been littered with awkward, personal assumptions. _Are there any sensitive topics I’ve missed that could also emotionally harm you and/or embarrass me?’_

“I guess I’ll take the handsome part as a compliment, since we’re twins and all.” Brook kept her tone light, beginning to lead Piper. “The ring is–was, my mom’s. I have my dad’s, too, it’s just a bit big for me. It’s my way of keeping them with me, you know?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Piper sighed, unsure if she wanted to show her vulnerable side to this mysterious, wisecracking vault dweller. After a moment, she let out a heavy sigh. “Our dad, he was killed when I was younger…. I still miss him every day.”

“I’m sorry Piper.” Her voice was gentle, as if speaking too loudly would cause the stadium to collapse underneath them. She reached out to her but stopped herself, giving Piper only a small smile. “You have Nat, that’s lucky. She’s a tough kid. I always see her out warning everyone about the ‘dangers of the Commonwealth’.”

Piper smiled to herself, “Yeah, she is, isn’t she? I gotta admit, she tries to hide it, but I think she’s a fan of yours.” Oops, Nat was going to kill her. Piper saw _something_ flash in her guide’s eyes.

“Me? Why?”

“Oh, well—I dunno.” Piper struggled to decide between avoiding Nat’s ire and learning more about the baffled woman in front of her. How mad could her younger sister really be if she returned with stories directly from her favorite adventurer? “She sees this resilient, badass woman roll into town with the Minutemen—who haven’t been seen in years—and who’s there to help out the little guys in the Commonwealth. It can’t be easy.”

“That’s pretty eloquent for a kid,” Brook raised an eyebrow, and Piper nervously adjusted her cap.

“Okay, so maybe she just finds a strong woman out exploring and helping people an ideal hero.” She huffed.

“Piper, all of those things describe you, too.” Brook held a curious gaze with her for a moment.

Piper let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “I was afraid of that.”

“Come on, let’s get into the shade.”  

The May sun was beating down on them, and Piper felt a bead of sweat run down her back. Leather coats were not ideal for spring, but she was grateful that her scarf was at home.

A small building was nestled into the wall of this section. A plume of smoke wafted up from below, and they could faintly hear the commotion of the market. The corrugated metal was broken by a light hanging sheet, which Brook brushed aside before vaulting over the railing with ease. She held it open while Piper hurdled over the railing with a soft grunt.  

Piper immediately noted that the loft was larger than expected; the brick walls rose high, and a skylight allowed sunlight to filter into the center of the room. The far wall was covered by a prewar mural of an idyllic Boston family, the eldest son reaching to catch a baseball while his family proudly looked on. Cork crumbled under her boots, and Brook smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a dump right now.” She reached behind a metal cabinet and retrieved a broom, allowing Piper to step aside before sweeping the cork into an existing pile. “No matter how often I sweep, I seem to track it back in with all the junk I’m lugging in here.”

Junk was right—it was piled onto a few metal shelves to her left, they bowed precariously under the weight. Prewar gadgets were in varying degrees of disrepair, some scrapped completely. A table sat a few feet away, littered with different tools and components, and a long counter stretched along the far wall—fairly clean, all things considered. Piper could make out a few boxes of food scattered around but mostly untouched. Brook had walked over to an island that housed a coffee pot and a few tins, lifting a hot plate and thrusting it into her hands.

“I almost forgot, I’ve been meaning to give you this.”

“A hot plate?”

“Yeah, you keep saying yours is on the fritz. And I gotta say, I hate cold coffee.” Brook turned away before Piper could offer a rebuttal.

She _had_ mentioned that, hadn’t she? It was an oddly thoughtful gesture. The hotplate felt cool and heavy in her hands. She set it down on an end table near the entrance and mentally made a note to not forget it. Cold coffee _was_ pretty bad. She followed towards the counter and rested her elbows on it while Brook fussed over some wooden crates crowding a metal storage container nestled in the corner.

“I can’t say I’ll be able to get these outta here,” Brook brushed her hands on her pants and gestured to another set of containers in the opposing corner. “I think I’ll turn those into a reading nook. The light comes in pretty well over there.” A bookcase was nestled against the containers, filled to the brim with books. A few stacks were set hastily aside, awaiting a new home as well. “Just gotta find something to cushion the top, maybe another mattress—gonna be hard getting it up here though….”

Piper walked to the bookcase while Brook mused on how to transport larger items into her loft without raising the suspicion of Diamond City Security. The books were dusty, and titles were mostly worn away. Most of them were non-fiction; books on plumbing, gardening, construction, and one interestingly titled _Integrated Circuitry for Dummies_ were found on the shelves. She crouched down and sifted through the piles of books on the floor. Many were instructional, but she also found a few books with fantasy covers. She didn’t recognize much of it, but the swords and shields seemed to be a hint.

“You’re moving to Diamond City?”

Brook pulled her arm out of the crate she was digging through and leaned against it, “Officially, no. Not unless you want to find me taking over the Piper Suite—especially if it’s McDonough asking. I’m sure he’d love to clear a way in here and advertise it as a ’high rise apartment for the upper class”.” Brook smiled as Piper rolled her eyes at the accuracy—that _would_ be the mayor’s first move. “Think of it as the base of operations for my new business. I’ll be working out of Diamond City accompanying farmers, merchants, really anybody going from point A to point B who might need a hand.”

“So, mercenary work?” Piper sat in a patio chair and eyed the Nuka-Cherry on the crate next to her.

Brook made a noncommittal whine and walked around the counter, perching on the crate opposite Piper. She also observed the Nuka-Cherry and popped it open against the countertop, considering it for a moment before handing it to Piper. “Mercenary work, but more moderate. I won’t be doing it for only caps, either—mostly for a place to sleep and maybe a meal or two. Most farmers don’t have much anyway, so I might accept IOU’s from time-to-time. That way, I can travel around the Commonwealth, see what’s out there, and maybe help a few people. On my terms, this time.”

Piper considered this for a moment and sipped at her Nuka-Cherry. The cherry flavor made it almost overly sweet as the syrupy drink washed over her tongue, but the aftertaste was tart. The Minutemen were working to make settlements a bit safer for everyone, to make travel routes safer—albeit on a smaller scale. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it was a dangerous one.  “A guard company for the little guys in the Commonwealth, payment in the form of favors. It’s kinda crazy, but I think you might have . . . something there, Blue. What are you gonna call it?”

Brook perked up and flashed Piper a slightly mischievous grin. “Commonwealth Tourism Company! And that’s on the record, Miss Wright.”


	3. Nuka Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ilya makes a difficult decision after tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Nuka-Nuke for sharing her OC with me and penning this chapter!

It had been about a week since Ilya last left the Institute. One week. She had slept for 210 years in a vault, but this one week felt like the longest passage of time in her entire life.

Shaun was gone— _my baby_ —her only reason for moving forward in this hellish world which she had been thrust into. He was the last reminder of her old life and the last thread keeping her connected to her one love, Nataniel. Just as soon as she had been reintroduced to her son's life, he was snatched away from her again. This time, the permanence weighed heavily in her lungs. She had held his hand while he faded away, tears rolled down her cheeks from tired eyes while internally hoping for this to simply be another bad dream she was going to wake up from. She watched the light in Shaun’s eyes fade away from her—she watched in despair as the last piece of Nati in this world faded away. Everything she had done since leaving the vault had been for the purpose of finding him again. How many people had she cut down in search of him? She bitterly wished she could have traded countless more for time with her son.  What could she possibly live for now?

He had left her in charge of the Institute, everything his entire life had been devoted to building; everything that her husband had indirectly died for. But she couldn't stay. The sympathetic looks given by the doctors who just days ago were arguing and fighting and threatening violence over her being in their presence at all, the forced condolences before awkwardly shifting into giving her a task to finish. They wanted her as far away as possible, as if she was some unknown volatile solution just waiting for a reason to erupt and destroy their way of life. She was numb, she felt nothing for these people except the pain and jealousy of the fact that they’d had their whole lives to share with her son and she was granted only three months. So, after two days of sitting silently and nearly motionless in front of Shaun's glowing memorial tombstone, she relayed out.

Ilya lay out upon the bed in her Cambridge warehouse loft, drinking bourbon straight from the bottle while the crooning lyrics of "It's All Over but The Crying" slithered out from the radio's old, crackling speaker and hung in the air around her like a thick fog. The words were enough to make her feel nauseous. Or maybe that was just the lack of sleep and consuming nothing but bourbon and whiskey for several days.

 Her clear blue eyes flickered open, wavering slightly when she turned her head to focus on Birdie, her constant travel companion. He was seated on a torn-up couch he had pulled up beside the bed, to make sure she didn't _actually_ die while apparently trying to drink herself to death. She watched him silently, unable to see his expression through the lenses of his black gas mask. His hands absent-mindedly worked at cleaning the disassembled pieces of his sniper rifle, all laid out on an ancient Boston Bugle on the floor. Though it was difficult for her vision to focus at the moment, she did take notice of the fact that her own automatic rifle, normally disgusting with grease, dirt, and grime from her perpetual neglect, was now pristine, propped up against the arm of the couch beside him. Her right hand extended, trembling, and then laying down onto the thick, protective rubber. Birdie startled and his eyes met hers, but he didn't require her to say anything. He complied with her wordless request without complaint and dropped the heavy mask to the ground. She hated it, but his neurotic paranoia of the diseases and radiation in the air since the bombs fell prevented him from ever keeping it off for too long. His nervous gaze met hers, awaiting her response. Ilya couldn’t find words to say; She just wanted to see him as a real person instead of a faceless being. Maybe the anguish she had built herself into was making her just a bit too sentimental.

"Bertrand", she began after a long moment, her voice hoarse and cracking from being parched with the hard liquor she had been sipping all morning. She wasn’t entirely sure of the reason she called him by his real name. It just seemed right in the moment. "Why are you still here?" And to that, his hazel eyes just stared vacantly at her. She was used to that. He tended to have a bit of a delay when it came to conversation, since he was still not too used to having people to talk to.

"W-Why...?" he stuttered, clearly uncomfortable with the question as his hands twisted the cloth he'd been cleaning with. "Uh, well, I'm always here. You know. We live together. We’re… together. I think." Birdie's ears burned. Her flat stare always seemed to cut right through him when she was in her low moods, unlike the electrifying magnetic energy she ordinarily possessed. It didn't torture him for too long, though, as she turned her head back onto her pillow and let out a soft sigh. When it became clear she didn't have anything else to add, he leaned forward from the tattered seat he had settled in to cautiously brush her bangs off her forehead and press a kiss to the huge scar that took up most of it. No matter how hard she tried to remain sullen, the corners of her mouth couldn't help but twitch upwards at his sweet efforts to console her.

That fleeting momentary distraction didn’t last.  She shifted, leaning to sit upwards with the intent to return the small affection and the dark thoughts once again blossomed within her mind, the rush of booze hit her full on like a freight train. All she could see were those eyes. The eyes of her son— _the eyes of her husband_. She could feel the room spin, the terror and complete physical panic of her loneliness crushing down all at once. _Why are you here …_ Her own voice resonated in her ears and she could no longer hear the words he was saying. _What the hell am I doing here?_ Her stomach twisted and her vision darkened, wide eyes looking up from the floor to meet again with the eyes of the boy in front of her. Tears began to well up and blur any remainder of her vision to complete obscurity.

Immediately, Birdie went into a fluster trying to soothe her again, even going so far as to sit beside her and pull her close into an embrace— usually very uncommon, since he hated to be touched without thorough decontamination. Even with her face buried into his chest, she couldn’t calm the frantic heartbeat or the flood of tears that seemed to be bursting forth all at once. _Nothing is left. Nothing._

“I-it’s okay.” _This isn’t okay._ “I am going to keep you safe.” _Everything leaves. Nothing is safe._ Ilya inhaled a staggered breath, leaning away to see his face. Her ability to focus was lost, the visage before her lurching from side to side.

“I… I love you.”

Those three words resonated like a bell through the air of a winter night. “What?” she whispered, the feeling as if her chest had collapsed in on itself made it hard to breathe.

The sea of panic parted into an abrupt confrontation to reality; she could see, and all she could see was him.

“I love you,” he repeated, slightly more confident this time. Ilya could immediately feel the familiar sensation of her heart breaking; she could feel the weight of his voice bringing her down out of the void of her hopelessness and seeming to sink through her entire being. Through the remaining tears in the corners of those pools of blue, she scanned his expression for any indication that this was just a nightmare; that she passed out from all the alcohol and they’d wake up and be happy, romantic, “traveling companions” again. “No you don’t,” she still could barely speak, but the words came out more as a plea than a statement. _Everyone who loves me disappears._

Birdie sighed, clearly very uncomfortable with his own decision to express himself, and brushed away small strands of silvery curls that had stuck to her tear-soaked cheeks.  “You are the only person I’ve met who didn’t really care that I wasn’t normal. You weren’t afraid to talk to me, and… You still liked me anyway even when I was really bad at touching and stuff,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, so wishing he had his gas mask to hide behind. “I don’t know what love is really, but I’m pretty sure what we have is more than that”

Words escaped her. One side of her consciousness argued for her to finally admit that she had fallen in love with him too. Ilya couldn’t think of a time since exiting the vault when she had been as happy as she had been in the time spent with him. Even other relationships formed since her awakening seemed to just be a way to waste the time and to make herself feel better about her own crushing sense of loneliness. But with Birdie… She had opened his world to all new experiences; he had made her feel like she wasn’t just a violent mistake. And even if she didn’t want to admit it, her chest warmed at the thought of waking up beside him all of these mornings, to those narrowed hazel eyes watching over her.

But the other side could still only see those eyes of the man which the latter part of her mind was betraying. The eyes of her husband who had died for her to keep on living, and who loved her unconditionally. He pledged himself to her forever and did not ever go back on that.

_He died to protect your child._

Suddenly she seemed to crash to the present. Ilya shook her head with slow trepidation, rising up from where she had been enveloped within his protective arms to stand on teetering feet. “No… I-I can’t do this,” Her voice was shaking, clearly portraying the war between her thoughts _wanting_ to stay and the other _demanding_ her to run. Birdie stared up towards her, the look of innocent confusion painted upon his face making her want to throw up.

“I’m sorry.”

With nothing more than that hollow apology, she silently grabbed her rifle and pack leaning on the side of the couch and stumbled towards the door. She couldn’t even manage to spare one last passing glance, for she knew if she did she would stay. All she could do was try her hardest to remain on her feet, which was proving to be quite a difficult endeavor after half a bottle of bourbon, and to hold back the tears she could feel forming once again in her eyes.

 _I’m doing you a favor._ Those words in her mind stung like a harsh insult, resounding with a continuous echo and overpowering even the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. She could hardly hear him call out her name anymore. She could hardly feel those finger tips reaching out for her hand, then slip away when she continued to move forward towards the exit.

The biting wind of the outside elements slashed Ilya’s face and whipped snowy hair into her eyes the second she pressed through the door of their home, now just another place for her to leave behind and forget. The atmosphere outside was cold and sobering, and her mind was finally silent.

Blue eyes turned upwards to the sky. She had nowhere to go anymore. No Institute, no lover, no Sanctuary. She slung the pack over her bare shoulder, and began to walk straight ahead from all of the life she made for herself thus far.

She was angry at herself for feeling so much for this stupid wastelander and letting this happen, angry for leaving, angry for not leaving months ago, angry at the world for doing this to her, angry at Shaun for not finding her sooner; just _angry_.

Her feet blindly stormed her forward, westward, hours and hours of seething in her own sorrow and anger, until in the darkness and stillness of that night, she came upon two massive, towering pre-war statues of a very familiar shape.

Just beyond them, a red arch reading “Nuka World Transit Center” came into view. 


	4. Nuka Buzz

Another flash of lightning overhead. _One . . . two . . . three . . .  four—_ thunder crashed and Brook felt the ground tremor beneath her.  The first few droplets of rain seemed to find their way right down the back of her shirt, chilling her sweaty back. The storm had rolled in quickly and brought a cool gust of air with it. Brook tightened her pack with an irritated huff. She knew of the closest settlement but _God_ she didn’t want to go _there. Okay kid, think quick now. You could go back to that theatre, I think I saw some Minutemen there. Might be a bed open . . .  might also be soaked by then._ She wondered how quickly she could lug her tired body back to the drive-in. Another drop of rain decided for her; she was going to Covenant. _Damnit._  But nothing was more miserable then trying to set up a camp in the rain, besides trying to sleep while soaked to the bone. She pushed forward towards Covenant, soothing herself with the thought: _It’s just one night, you can survive one night._

“You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I am not joking.” The grey-haired man smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  


“A test? To get inside? This is real?” She studied the man’s face for any sign of a bluff. His friendly demeanor was already off-putting, but an administered test to be allowed into Covenant? She found no sign of dishonesty, and this unnerved her more than the alternative. The rain was now angrily beating against the metal roof of the porch they huddled under, and she once again considered finding a rock to sleep under. The concrete walls surrounding the small community stood against the dark sky that had accompanied the storm. It was only early evening but the spotlights cut through the darkness only to illuminate the thick wall of rain. It looked as if Brook was watching her world through the static of her father’s television. She imagined herself as one of his favorite protagonists; the weather would surely set the stage. The only things she was missing were a trench coat, a cigar, and a glass of scotch.

“It’s real. So, if you don’t mind, have a seat and we’ll begin.” The leather-clad man sat opposite a wooden desk and slid a manila folder to the center, retrieving one sheet of paper and a pencil. He tapped the eraser to the desk and looked up at her expectantly.

She realized she was glowering and quickly smoothed her face into a neutral expression. Her body ached as she slid into the chair and tried to glance at the ‘test’ she was about to take. The air was cool against her bare arms and she desperately hoped that this wouldn’t take long. Caps in her pocket were itching to be spent on a warm bed and maybe a bit of alcohol to ease her into a dreamless sleep. It had been a long week.

The gentleman cleared his throat and it ripped Brook out of her reverie.

“Now, question one. . . “

She passed, much to her own shock. When the man—Swanson—revealed the test was to keep out ‘undesirables’, she had started planning her trek back to Diamond City. Every fiber in her being screamed that she would be turned away into the storm. Always labeled as an undesirable—she was written off at every turn: too outspoken, too confident, and too unruly. Desperate for the approval of her mother, Brook did her best to tamp down the parts of herself that didn’t fit into the role that was carved for her. Law school was bearable—hell, she was even well suited for it. But her internship destroyed her; hounding regular people on behalf of the credit company that had bought off their debt was soul crushing. _Empathy has no place in business_ , she could still hear her mother’s voice even now.   A cold drop fell directly onto her nose and Brook realized her jaw was clenched tightly, aching for release.

Swanson unlocked the metal doors set into the concrete security wall and let them swing open slowly. Brook tried to refrain from rolling her eyes at the dramatics and let him step aside.

“There’s a guest house with a free bunk available. Second house on your left.” He turned to her and gave a friendly smile. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

Brook grimaced to herself, _I hope you enjoy your stay. . .  heh heh. . . creep!_

The community was quiet; no one was found on the short stretch—most likely because of the storm picking up. The few houses within the walls were immaculate and Brook wondered for a moment if she were on tv. _Surprise! We sure got you, huh? You really thought the nuclear fallout had happened! Man, you should’ve seen your face when the bombs dropped. . ._  Instinctively she reached under the pack on her back until her fingers grazed the wooden grip of Fanrong. _They’d be staring down the business end if that were the case._ She’d be sleeping with her .44 under her pillow tonight.

She pushed through the bolstered wind and into the second house on the left as Swanson instructed. The door opened silently and revealed three empty beds in the simple but pristine room. She felt like an intruder, a volatile energy taking residence inside of a dormant one—flaring and seething, threatening destruction at any moment. A chair was lodged under the doorknob before she thought better of it. She was a fairly light sleeper, and by now could trust her instincts to blow anyone away if the tried anything while she slept. Reluctantly, the chair was removed. She slept fitfully, plagued by bitter memories—all of them prewar.

Sunlight beamed directly into her eyes and Brook became acutely aware of the dried drool on her face. Remembering herself, she sprung off of the bed and swiped hastily at her mouth. She was alone. The bed creaked softly as she dropped back onto the mattress and fished under her pillow. A breath she didn’t realize she was holding escaped from her in a relieved hiss as her hand came into contact with the warmed metal of Fanrong’s barrel. She tucked it into the back of her fatigues, hesitant to advertise her distrust in such an unfamiliar place.

A meat jerky of some type was the only available breakfast today. She hadn’t been prepared to be away for this long. The tank she’d put on two weeks ago was torn in multiple places and thickly covered in dirt and dust.  Depending on the state of their shop, she’d stock up and get the hell outta dodge. The jerky was shoved back into her back after being considered for a moment—she’d eat when she got closer to home. Her secret loft, hiding in plain view on top of Diamond City—it comforted her to think she’d be back soon. Her shoulders protested with a dull ache as her pack was securely fastened. Brook made sure to close the door behind her as she steeled herself for whatever kook she’d have to ignore on her way out.

Not even a few feet off of the stoop and she found herself stopping in her tracks.

“All signs point to the caravan stopping here before they were ambushed, and you’re telling me you didn’t even see them?” The man’s stony voice was thick with skepticism, and Brook instantly felt relieved that _someone_ seemed to be normal in this town. _Well, this sounds bad for business._

“I’m telling you, _I don’t remember them._ Now if you don’t mind. . .” The man being questioned skittered away, clearly hiding something.

_A caravan ambushed, conveniently just outside of town—sounds like a story at the very least._ Brook chuckled to herself quietly, knowing she was about to shove her nose where it didn’t belong. _I’m going to have to start charging Piper an hourly wage for my freelance reporting._

Brook approached the gruff man, clearly out of place in this ‘perfect’ community. His hair was long and beard unkempt, donning armor common for mercs out in the wasteland.

“’Scuse me. You lookin’ for a hand? I’m pretty good at getting answers,” she lowered her voice while looking directly away from him, a trick she’d seen on a PI show as a kid. “These guys are _definitely_ hiding something.” She didn’t know that for sure, but any place that has an entrance test has to have some dark secrets.

The man chuckled at her attempt at being inconspicuous, “Yeah, actually. I can’t get anything out these guys. God, I hate this place.” He lit the cigarette in his mouth and took a long drag while considering her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “I’ll give you half the caps I was promised if you can figure out what happened the caravan.”

Brook’s eyes burned from the smoke wafting over her face, but she resisted waving it away. Instead, she offered her hand, “Brook; Commonwealth Tourism”.

He chuckled softly and Brook watched it jostle the cigarette in his lips, “They call me Honest Dan.” His rough large hand overwhelmed hers and gave a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet ya.”


	5. Nuka Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping up an article; hints of a new lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I hope to pick this back up! Let me know what you think, and commenting totally kicks my butt into writing gear.

Three quick raps on the door. Piper stood from her terminal but could already hear Nat scrambling to the door. Piper would normally answer, fearing it was Diamond City security coming to haul her off to the Piper Suite for her latest ‘exclusive’ on the mayor. Three quick raps were familiar to Nat and Piper—how long had it been this time? The front door creaked in protest,  _ I should really get that greased up again,  _ Piper reminded herself for what was probably the sixteenth time that week. 

“Hi, I’d like to file a complaint about your latest issue.” That light voice had Piper pause on the stairs, her visitor just out of view. She smiled despite herself, and awaited Nat’s reply. 

“Yeah right, toilet’s out back, Scavver!” Nat attempted to sound gruff, but the smile on her face gave her away.  _ Oh Nat, never change.  _ Piper listened to her sister’s halfhearted attempt at scolding and decided to intervene.

Brook hesitated in the doorway, watching Piper’s boots on the stairs before turning back to Nat. She was smiling up at her, and she could feel nerves stirring in her stomach. This happened every time whether she was gone for a day or a month. She found herself walking backing to Diamond City, to this very same doorstep. 

“Come on Natalie, let her get in the door. I’m sure we can find the time to listen to at least one complaint today.” Piper drawled in a honeyed voice and a giggle escaped Nat before she stepped aside. She was flashed a grateful smile and watched Brook slide her pack off and plop onto the couch. 

Nat eagerly took the seat next to Brook and shot her a knowing look, impatient as ever. Brook dropped her head in mock defeat before turning back to her pack. Out of the corner of her eye, Piper leaned against her printing press, an arm lazily propped her head. She could feel Piper’s eyes watching the two of them. Brook rummaged through her pack before retrieving two ragged comic books. Nat made a grab for them but they were quickly snatched out of reach.

“What, you’re interested in these? I thought you said comics were for babies?” Brook gently leafed through one, avoiding Nat’s frustrated grasp. “You don’t seem too interested in The Scarlet Sniper so I think I’ll just keep them for myself—” she allowed Nat to pry the comics out of her hand with a chuckle. Nat retreated to her corner of the room with her winnings and Piper claimed her spot on the couch. 

Piper watched as Brook smiled after Nat. Nat always looked forward to Brook returning to town, though Piper had to admit that she did as well. She had been gone for three weeks and Piper could tell it had taken a toll on her. Dark circles under her eyes, and the way her smile didn’t quite touch her eyes as it usually did were the sure signs of a rough transport. She could see Brook smiling sheepishly, probably knowing that she’d get a lecture later on taking better care of herself. 

“I know, I know. But I have quite a scoop for you.” 

Piper straightened in her seat at this development and the couch creaked in response.  “Is that so? In that case, let me put on some coffee!”

With a piping hot cup in hand, Brook took a tentative sip and Piper awaited her inevitable grimace. Like clockwork, she watched her lips purse and brow furrow at the bitterness. Piper hadn’t guessed it at first, but her source had a sweet tooth, much like herself.  She set her own mug down and began scratching her pen to life. 

Their cups were long ago refilled and emptied again, and Piper felt jittery as she hastily scribbled the last few details of a daring rescue. The weary eyed woman across from her looked as if she were partially melted into the couch, and Piper observed her for moment before reviewing her notes. 

“So—,” Piper saw Brook flinch at the interruption and she smiled apologetically, “Did you find out if she was, you know. . . a synth?” 

Brook’s eyes opened a bit wider and she looked as if she were suddenly very interested in the printing press behind Piper. After a moment she laid her head onto the arm of the couch and sighed, “Does it really even matter?” 

The pen in Piper’s hand felt very heavy in the moment and she let it roll onto her notepad. “Doesn’t it? If she were a synth….” She felt at a loss, the Institute had been creating these synths and hiding them in plain sight among the Commonwealth’s people. Friends and family members were being snatched away in the night and replaced with an almost flawless replicate. Of course, it mattered. Piper pulled her leg underneath her and flipped her notepad closed.  _ Maybe she just doesn’t know, I doubt they had to worry about synths in the vault. Not like the Institute could sneak someone in without being noticed.  _ She let out the breath she was holding out in a heavy sigh. “Blue synths are, well, dangerous.” Piper kept her voice soft, wanting to tread carefully in this topic. “At any moment the Institute can give them the order to kill, and they have to do it. It’s happened right here in Diamond City. A guy comes into town, has a few drinks with DC citizens, and tells them stories of his travels. Then he just snaps—shoots the bartender and takes down three other people before security can stop him. We can’t know what they’ll do.” 

“Exactly. We can’t know.” Brook’s eyes remained closed but her voice was firm, she had anticipated this conversation, Piper realized. “What’s the difference between us and them? That girl they had locked up in there, she was terrified and hurt. They feel pain, and emotion—how can they be less than us?” She sat up slowly, meeting Piper’s eyes with a dark and defiant expression. Her voice was low, almost threatening, “I could walk into the Market right now—” she feigned shooting the printing press behind Piper, “and take out anyone I could. Just because I had a bad day, or hell—just to cause chaos. There’d be nothing to explain it away, no chip to blame it on. But if there were—would you blame the person who pulled the trigger, or the person who sent the order to do it? You say they’re dangerous because they’re unpredictable—but that’s human nature itself. So, no I’m not afraid of the teenage girl crying to go home to her daddy’s farm. I’m scared of the humans that kidnapped and tortured her and countless others.” 

Heat gathered in Piper’s cheeks knowing that in a way, she was right. She gnawed her lip while sluggishly searching for her pen. 

Brook lifted her mug to her mouth before realizing it was empty. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all philosophical on you.” The mug was returned to the washing machine Piper used as a counter with a defeated clang. 

“No, don’t be,” she breathed a laugh, “You’re—you’re right. We shouldn’t assume they’re all dangerous, I mean we can’t forget about ole Nicky. He’d never hurt anyone.” The 2 nd generation synth had suffered through years of prejudice by the Diamond City citizens before finally being given a sliver of acceptance, no matter how shaky that was. People still had a distaste for the local private investigator, despite how much good he did. 

Piper watched the fond smile grow on Brook’s face at the mention of Nick. She had a soft spot for the synth ever since she and Piper drug him out of a building swarmed with super mutants earlier in the year. He’d been chasing a lead on a missing person; Piper idly pondered if he ever got anywhere on that case.  _ Feels like months since I’ve been out in the wasteland, being cooped up in Diamond City isn’t exactly bringing in the stories—well besides the ones trickling in from my junior reporter here.  _

“I think I have plenty for a new article here, this is really going to blow Covenant wide open!” Piper skimmed through her notes before retiring them to the press to be written up later tonight. 

“I’ve already had a Minuteman pass the message along to Ben. I doubt things will be quiet for much longer, I’d say you have a few days before it leaks.” Brook leaned heavily on her knees before slowly rising with a huff. “I better go, I’m due for about—” she counted on her fingers, “four days of sleep should do it, I think.” 

“Oh right, of course. You should go get some rest!” Piper rose with her guest. “I mean, sheesh, you didn’t have to let me keep you for a story. Well, you know what I mean.” Piper laughed nervously and wanted to kick herself.  _ Why are you laughing, Wright?  _ “But I mean, next time you hear of a scoop you should, uh, consider bringing me along. That way you wouldn’t have to relay the story back to me, save you some time you know? And you know I’m a decent shot—I could watch your back,”  _ Stop talking, Piper.  _ “if you were interested, that is.”  _ Cripes!  _ She lifted her hat to smooth a few hairs down before replacing it.

Brook smiled down at her pack before hoisting it onto her back. “That’d be good. It’d be nice having someone to keep me company.” She crossed a few feet to the door, “I’ll let you know if I hear anything. See ya ‘round, Pipes.” She bid her farewell in a low voice, before yelling a goodbye to Nat. The door creaked loudly in protest and Piper reminded herself for the seventeenth time to get it greased.

Nat’s voice came over from her corner of the room, “Real smooth, Piper.” She flipped a page of her comic lazily, “Very subtle.” 

 

~~~ Over the next couple days Piper drafted and redrafted the article on Covenant. She wanted to get it in to print as soon as possible, before the Minutemen announced their ‘requisition’ of the town. No one wanted to pay for a story they’d already heard at the noodle stand. With the rain that’d passed through, Piper worried about her press outside. Having it rust over by the time her article was ready—that’d be just her luck. 

Stepping out into the August heat made her leather coat unbearable and it was quickly discarded as she set to review the damage to her press.   _ There’s no way.  _ A quick turn of the crank revealed—no resistance. It was perfectly maintained.  _ I’m gonna throttle her!  _ The press had been thoroughly dried and oiled, something she did herself after every rain. Otherwise, she’d be scrounging the Commonwealth for parts to replace—and they weren’t exactly lying around. Piper stood and yanked her front door open—which surprisingly flew open with little effort—bouncing off of her forehead. Heat rose in her already flushed cheeks.  _ Okay, now I’m mad!  _ She sidestepped the door and peeked her head inside, “Natalie Wright! You come here, right now!”  

Frantic scrambling was heard a beat before a tentative Nat appeared.  “What’d I do?” She whined, sounding almost as exasperated as Piper felt.  

Piper took a breath before responding, “The press, Nat—what did I say just last week?” she gestured in the air, the door still ajar next to her.

Nat’s brow furrowed as she shook her head, “Not to touch it?” 

“Yeah, you smashed your finger in the roller last time, remember? So why is it oiled up?” The last thing she needed was Nat crushing her hand in the old roller.  _ Dad would’ve been so steamed _ .

“I keep telling you to replace it, the frame is cracked. That’s why it keeps eating papers— _and_ _fingers,_ ” she mumbled glumly. “But I didn’t touch it, I swear!” 

Piper could tell she was being honest, which frustrated her more.  _ Who else would be touching my press around here?  _  She thought for a beat before retreating outside, the door slid closed with only a click as it latched.  _ The door! Who the hell? Not only do I have to worry about the Institute, but now there’s a—grease fairy roaming around.  _ She smiled despite herself, the image of the Sanctuary mechanic with fairy wings bounced around her mind. The bump on her forehead started to ache, and Piper decided to channel her frustration into printing her article. 

It turned out that more people disliked Covenant than Piper had thought. Nat sold two bundles within a day, which hadn’t happened since—well a vault dweller turned up claiming to be from before the war. It seemed so long ago now, but Piper quickly dismissed the thought. 

The afternoon sun bathed the market in a gentle glow—dust being kicked up wafted down to Publick Occurrences from the market. Piper enjoyed this time of the day, when Diamond City started to slow down from its usual hustle. Usually this was the best time for her to get out and do interviews, DC residents were more receptive to her questions. Surprisingly, there were no interviews to be done today—and Piper idly wondered what to do with her free time. She opened the door behind her to peek her head in on Nat. She’d come in after another shift of selling papers after class, and promptly fell asleep on the small couch—a comic still in her lap. Piper knew better than to disturb Nat during a nap, lest she be on the receiving end of a thrown elbow. She let the door swing silently shut again, turning her back on Publick Occurrences and heading off to find a Nuka Cola. 

Piper was thankful as she came a new bridge that lead to Brook’s unofficial Diamond City loft. It was an old Slocum’s Joe billboard, painstakingly dragged to this spot and fastened into place—she idly wondered how long it had been exactly since she’d come by. Since the founding of Commonwealth Tourism, Piper had found herself kept busy with the stories that Brook would share upon her return. She shifted the Nuka Oranges she’d bought under her arm and considered how many caps Brook had earned indirectly for Publick Occurrences. A celebratory Nuka now seemed minuscule compared to what she’d earned. Piper paused on the dopey donut smiling towards the sky—greeted with the site of a small rooftop garden.  _ Maybe this was a bad idea. I should probably come back with something a bit more thoughtful— _

“To what do I owe this pleasure, Ms. Wright?” Piper hadn’t spotted Brook crouched in the shade, lifting the mutfruit branch impairing her view.  

“I, uh—” she lifted an ancient bottle into view, “thought maybe you’d like one. A small thank you for the story.” She felt like a radstag in the sights of a rifle, and rapidly crossed to close the awkward amount of distance between them. 

Brook rose slowly, wiping her hands with a rag before hastily shoving it into her pocket. “A Nuka, huh?” she took one into her hands before looking at Piper wide-eyed, “it’s. . . actually kind of cold. How did you manage that?” 

Piper gave her best wink. “A good reporter never reveals her source, you of all people should know that.” She flushed at the smile and eye roll that had earned her—feeling a bit proud to get in the last word for once. Brook always seemed to be one step ahead of her, which was refreshing in the wasteland. _ Must be that high-class vault education, huh. _

The sun was lazily hanging just above the horizon, bathing the two in rosy light. Piper felt herself admiring her confidant’s eyes. The light played well off of her green eyes, which now glimmered as they stared back at her with a curious look. Piper felt her neck warm, clearly from standing in this heat for too long. 

“Well, I know the perfect place to enjoy these.” Brook brushed past her flourishing mutfruit to the other side of the roof. 

“Rickety bridges and rooftop lounges. You sure like to keep it interesting, huh?” Piper waited for a moment, eyeing the torn couch fitted under a shabby awning of spread canvas. Brook only smiled and shrugged in response before tucking her Nuka under her arm and adjusting the canvas where it was loosely tied to an old radio transmitter. 

“Woah—quite a view you’ve got here, Cecil!” Diamond City laid behind them, it seemed they were even higher than the mayor’s office at this level. The snobs in the upper stands would be fuming if they knew that the nosy reporter they turn their nose up at was looking down on them now. Piper felt a little breath of satisfaction as she glanced around the roof. It was a small bit of space open, but somehow Brook had managed to get old furniture hoisted up here. “You could keep tabs on anyone from up here, huh?” Piper mused.

Brook plopped down into the shade “Yeah I’m sure you could, if you were creepy. Or a reporter,” she attempted to open her drink before looking to Piper, defeated. 

“Here, doll. Let me show you how it’s done.” She took the Nuka from the pouter below her and expertly popped the cap on the ledge of her coffee table. She returned the drink before doing the same to hers, and Brook gave a wide smile before taking a tentative sip. Piper took this invitation and sat on the couch, looking out into the Wasteland, Diamond City rumbling behind them. They sat like that for several moments, sipping contently at their drinks in comfortable silence. They were able to talk nonstop for hours, but Piper enjoyed these moments just the same. 

Static pulled her out of her contemplation and she turned to Brook. A small pre war radio sat on her coffee table—an antenna stretched high. Most scavvers preferred to keep radios around, more power to drown out the raucous raiders that infested almost every block. 

“Still busted I think, can’t even seem to get Diamond City Radio to pick up. I’m  _ right here,  _ how could it not?” A soft click with every frequency change introduced only static.  _ Click. Static. Click. Static. Click.  _

“Wait—” Piper tapped her arm. “Listen, something’s playing.” She waited a moment to confirm, and there it was—a garbled message under a layer of static. “Can you turn it up?” 

Brook cleared her throat before turning up the radio, “Oh!” She rolled off the couch and laid her ear against the speaker. 

A few moments of adjustment and they were rewarded with a dopey voice. “—is only open for a few more weeks in October! Come down and see me and Cappy one last time before—”

“Wait, did he just say ‘Cappy’?” Brook looked to Piper with curiosity before turning back to the radio. 

“—so hop aboard the Nuka Express and come see the whole Nuka Family while you still can!” Piper had never heard this station before, and Nat was constantly trying to find a new station for a break from Travis’ anxious voice. 

“Nuka World….” Brook sounded almost wistful as she stared at the radio in front of her. 

Piper finished the last of her Nuka and set her bottle to the side before glancing up. The sun had finally started to set and they sat quietly while listening to the advertisement crackle in the background.

The stadium lights charged for only a second before flashing to life, bathing the city in bright white light. Brook hadn’t even seemed to notice, as she looked back at Piper with her eyes wild with excitement. Piper couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just stumbled onto her next story.


End file.
